“I gave him some morphine for the pain, and sulfa powder to prevent infection,” Hoffman said in defense, but after a pause he added, “but she’s right. I’m not a medic.”
“Get whatever first aid supplies you have,” the medical student said, standing up. “I’m Jens. This is Wolf and Axel.” He pointed to the tall, lanky soldier and the shorter, blonder one.
We all made our introductions, and it was like the air came back into the room and we could breathe again.
Jens and Hoffman gathered the first aid supplies and went over to tend to Colonel Brooks, who had begun to stir even more.
“Fritz, could you please get the colonel some water if he wakes? And maybe also some clean clothes for him?” I said. “Or I could if you’ll just tell me where . . .” But Fritz was already up and heading to the kitchen. Jens followed him to wash up.
“You were right, Dottie,” I said, as Jens took over and tended to the colonel.
“I’m afraid he might not make it through the night,” she said, sipping her wine by the fire next to Viv.
“Hopefully, he will now. God, I would sit in this fire if I could,” Viv said. “To be this warm again makes me want to cry.”
“That fact that it’s Christmas makes me so homesick,” Dottie said. “I miss my brothers and my parents so much.”
“I’m missing my niece Gianna’s first Christmas,” Viv said, tears in her eyes. “My sister may never forgive me.”
That melancholy feeling washed over me again, and I took a sip of wine and gave the two German soldiers an awkward smile as they observed our homesickness. I was sure they had absolutely no idea what we were saying. But when Fritz returned and sat down, they had questions.
“Seid ihr Soldatinnen?” asked Axel, as soon as he had a translator.
“Are you female soldiers? He wants to know,” said Fritz.
I explained that we were Red Cross, pointing to the patch on my arm.
Fritz translated, and then Axel spoke again.
“He wants to know if you came here on your own, or if your country made you come,” Fritz said.
“Tell him we were stupid enough to come on our own,” Viv said, smiling at Axel. “No, don’t tell him that; he won’t understand the sarcasm.”
“And ask him how old he is,” Dottie said. “He looks like he’s not even out of high school.”
Some more banter passed between the Germans, and then Fritz said, “They’re both sixteen years old. Jens is twenty-four. And they want to know why none of you are married because you look older and you’re all very pretty.” He was smiling, enjoying his role as translator.
“Dottie, I think you need to sing some Christmas carols,” Viv said, winking at them. “These boys have too many questions.”
And that’s when the young German soldiers, Axel and Wolf, fell in love with Viv.
“Maybe after dinner,” said Dottie.
“You sing?” Fritz said. “You have to sing some Christmas songs for us; my mother will love it. Music is her favorite thing in life.”
We talked to the young soldiers and Fritz for a while, sipping wine and warming ourselves by the fire, as Jens tended to the colonel.
“Fritz!” After almost two hours, Elisabeth finally peeked out of the kitchen and called to him.
As Fritz set the table, he told us all to find a seat. Wolf and Axel chose the chairs on either side of Viv, the rest of us sat down, and Hoffman and Jens came over just as Elisabeth was placing fragrant bowls of stew in front of all of us. Fritz brought out the bread and the rest of the wine as Elisabeth folded her hands in prayer and gave us all a warning look to do the same. She bowed her head, and we all followed suit.
“Gott, wir nehmen an diese Mahlzeit, aber lass uns nicht deine Gegenwart vergessen. Du segnest, weil du uns liebst, segne auch was du uns gibst. Bitte, Gott, an diesem Heiligabend beten wir für das Ende des Krieges. Amen.”
Fritz translated the prayer as soon as his mother finished: “God, as we partake of this meal, let us not forget your presence; bless us because you love us, bless also what you have given. Please, God, on this Christmas Eve, we pray for this horrible war to end. Amen.”
I made the sign of the cross and looked up, and my eyes weren’t the only ones glistening. We sat there for a quiet moment, our thoughts far away from this cottage in the middle of the Ardennes. Then the two younger soldiers thanked Elisabeth profusely as they reached for bread and started inhaling the food.
The first part of dinner, all you could hear was the quiet sound of spoons hitting bowls, as we were all too ravenous to even attempt polite discussion.
“Your colonel has lost a great deal of blood; his blood pressure is low,” Jens said in a quiet voice to me. “You’ll need to get him somewhere safe where he can get blood plasma, as well as rest and food. I’ll show you your best route out; you should leave before dawn.”
“Of course,” I said. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Bitte,” he said.
Fritz said something to the young soldiers in German and then looked at Viv.
“You never answered their question—why aren’t you all married?” He smiled mischievously.
“Tell them because all of the American men are in the war, obviously,” Viv said, shaking her head. “Fiona is engaged—her fiancé’s a prisoner of war over here. And Dottie has a fella in the Twenty-Eighth Infantry.”
“In the Twenty-Eighth? That’s where I’m from,” Hoffman said. “What’s his name?”
“My God, we didn’t even ask. I had no idea you were in the Twenty-Eighth,” I said.
“His name is Joe Brandon,” Dottie said, her voice trembling. I grabbed her hand. “Do you know if he’s okay? Please tell me you know something.”
The Germans all watched this exchange, and I knew it didn’t require translation.
“He’s okay,” Hoffman said. “The colonel and I were at the Twenty-Eighth’s divisional command post at Wiltz, Luxembourg, when it came under severe attack. Captain Brandon and the band took up arms. They dug foxholes, picked up carbines, and fought to hold the line and stop the German advance.” Hoffman looked at Jens uncomfortably when he said this. “Out of the sixty band members, there are only sixteen left.”
“Jesus,” Viv said. “Sixteen out of sixty.”
Fritz translated this story; the younger soldiers looked terrified when they heard the last part.
Dottie was smiling as she blotted her eyes with her napkin and waved her hand in front of her face, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m just so relieved.” Elisabeth reached across the table, patted her on the shoulder, and nodded. Understanding without words.
“And where is your fiancé?” Fritz asked, looking at me.
“Last I heard, he was at a POW camp in East Prussia. Stalag Luft IV,” I said. It was a reality I still didn’t quite grasp.
Jens looked me in the eye when I said this, examining my face. “Thousands of lives interrupted,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “The Allies are advancing in that area; if they get too close, they will move the prisoners.”
“Move them where?” I said, feeling chilled at the thought.
“Anywhere the Allies can’t liberate them,” Jens said. And then, seeing the distraught look on my face, he added, “Try not to worry. This war will be over sooner, I think.”
He nodded at the younger soldiers, who were now talking to Fritz in German, telling him a story and laughing, their cheeks flushed from the red wine and the warmth of the fire.
“They’re sending these little boys to fight now,” Jens whispered, disgust in his voice. “Next it will be kindergartners.”
“I hope you’re right about it ending soon,” I said, my head hurting to think about somehow managing to get to East Prussia only to find that Danny had been moved somewhere else.
“Yes, me too. I am better at fixing men than . . . ,” he said.
“Dottie, you promised to sing,” Viv said. “For our hostess?”
“Yes, please,” Fritz said, thrilled at the idea. “By the fire.” He jumped up and started clearing the plates, and we all did the same, tripping over ourselves to thank Elisabeth for the first home-cooked meal we’d had in months.
We went to the Cheyenne to get Dottie’s guitar, our bedrolls, and sleeping bags. We handed a couple of the bags to Jens, Axel, and Wolf to share. We also presented Elisabeth with some ground coffee for her kindness. I wished we had more to give her.
“I’ll start with the most obvious choice,” Dottie said, giving her guitar a quick strum when we settled in around the fire, and then she started to sing “Silent Night.”
As Dottie sang, I looked over and Elisabeth had her hands clasped together on her red floral apron, tears streaming down her cheeks at the beauty of the voice and the song. The soldiers also seemed transfixed by Dottie’s beautiful voice. When she finished, we all clapped, and Fritz, Axel, and Wolf gave her a standing ovation.
“Okay, now something a little more upbeat, Dots, or I’m going to be an emotional wreck,” Viv said.